


Perchance to Feast

by larissabernstein



Series: The Krolock Chronicles [1]
Category: Tanz der Vampire - Steinman/Kunze
Genre: Angst, Canon Jewish Character, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Cunnilingus, Dance of the Vampires - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Identity Issues, Oral Sex, Original Broadway Cast, Romance, Self-Denial, Shabbat | Sabbath | Sabt, Smut, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22479592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larissabernstein/pseuds/larissabernstein
Summary: He really could not tell what made him do it, what madness of the moment made him agree to accept Sarah’s invitation to this Friday night dinner with her family.
Relationships: Sarah Chagal/Graf von Krolock
Series: The Krolock Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726684
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	Perchance to Feast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vfrankenstein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vfrankenstein/gifts).



> I have no excuses. This fic is very much a "Dance of the Vampires" story, *not* a "Tanz der Vampire" one. Yes, you read that correctly — we are talking about the infamous Broadway version here, in all its sad and campy and cursed glory.
> 
> Written for and dedicated to my dear friend Lillian whom I blame for this fic, in all due loving friendship and with all due offence.
> 
> Also, DOTV never happened. Just for the record. It most assuredly never happened.

**Perchance to Feast**

Columbine:

There isn’t a sign of a moon, Pierrot.

Pierrot:

Of course not.

There never was. “Moon’s” just a word to swear by.

“Mutton!” — now _there’s_ a thing you can lay the hands on,

And set the tooth in! Listen, Columbine:

I always lied about the moon and you.

Food is my only lust.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, _Aria da Capo. A play in one act_ (1921)

He really could not tell what made him do it, what madness of the moment made him agree to accept Sarah’s invitation to this Friday night dinner with her family. There had to be better ways to spend an evening than with a bunch of unwashed, cabbage-munching peasants, but she had smiled at him, with that far-away, dreamy look in her eyes, and flicked her hair just so that it exposed even more of the creamy skin of her neck, and he had nodded, simply nodded, with the sweet taste of her blood still fresh on his tongue, and sweeter promises unspoken between them, and now he, Count Giovanni Capellini Trovatore von Krolock himself, stood in this shabby home of an illiterate innkeeper and had to exchange pleasantries with mortal commoners.

But he knew how to use his charms to his advantage, and while Sarah’s father seemed to be suspicious of him, eyeing his fine evening wear and his bedazzled cape with the distinct grudge of the envious poor, her mother was easier to impress. Presenting her with an extravagant bouquet of flowers — purple nightshade, freshly imported from California — had definitely worked on her, and Krolock was silently thankful that Sarah had discouraged him from bringing a bath sponge as gift.

“Doctor von Krolock?” the middle-aged woman asked and peered at him over her glasses in a rather rude way. Age had not been too kind to her, he could see that, but maybe this rough exterior was what the circumstances required of her, to cope with the harsh village life, and that ribald guy of a husband, and the pitiable patrons frequenting her dingy business.

“No,” and he tried to hide his chuckle behind the chivalrous gesture of bowing elegantly and kissing Rebecca’s hand in a greeting that was obviously rather unfamiliar to the simple innkeeper’s wife and made her giggle.

“Just-a _Count_ , I’m afraid,” he smiled at her and made sure to keep his fangs well-hidden behind manners and accent. “Although I admit that the field of-a medicine and anatomy has always held-a much fascination for me. What-a true miracle human bodies are, won’t you say…”

“Count von Krolock is a very educated man, Mame! He even has his own library! Every book ever written,” Sarah now cut in, whether to rescue her mother from any further embarrassments, or to rescue him from more questioning, he could not tell, but he oddly enjoyed the pride he clearly heard in her words, and the mention of the library also made him recall their earlier activities in this very place, and he quickly focused on the elder woman’s scrutiny again, lest his cold body warm at a rather inopportune time.

“Yes, yes, I can see that he’s a fine _bokher_ ,” Rebecca nodded at them, but she still squinted her eyes at him as if to appraise his person in greater detail. “A scholar then? Or even a lawyer perhaps?”

Krolock could not hide his amusement any longer. “No, Signora Chagal, I must-a disappoint you again. I might be able to take up-a battle of wits with any scholar, don’t fault me for saying this in unashamed honesty, but-a lawyer I am not.”

“Ah, well,” Rebecca shrugged, “most of them are immoral bloodsuckers anyway. Let’s move to the table, shall we? I’ll check on the soup. Go make yourself useful, Sarahle, stop daydreaming and tend to our guest.”

Sarah gave him a pointed look and took his arm to steer him over to the far corner of the small home where a dining table was set up in modest but still heartwarming rural opulence, with a pair of candlesticks bathing the room in golden glow and two braided loaves of bread filling the air with their fresh aroma and warmth. It was an odd sight, he mused. A far cry from the rich banquets he had attended back in the days, before he… Ah, whatever. And all the more different from the festivities he hosted every now and then at the castle. Still, the simple quiet and domesticity of the setting touched something in him, something he had thought dead and buried long ago.

“I think she likes you,” Sarah whispered in his ear when they took their seats, and he could not suppress a tiny shudder at her sudden closeness, with her auburn curls tickling his cheek. Why did he care what the peasant woman thought of him? Sarah was his in any case, there was no escape now. And yet, he felt his heart swell with a good and deep emotion. If her mother’s approval meant so much to his little princess, then this whole charade was worth it. And it did present a welcome respite from the ennui of his eternal existence, he could not deny it.

There was the distant banging of pots and plates from the kitchen, and he quickly leaned in to steal a kiss while they were still granted a moment alone. “If it were only up to me I would-a take you away from-a here this very night, my Sarah. Abduct you to my castle and make you my queen tonight, away from-a the hardships of your daily life and the small-minded village where even your dreams are caged.”

This came out much too desperate, Krolock winced at his own choice and urgency of words. But Sarah sighed against his lips. “The day after tomorrow, at the ball. And before I leave all this behind — I wanted to share this part of my life with you. You’ve shown me yours, and now I show you mine…”

The door to the kitchen creaked and announced the return of her mother.

“Even if you can’t take me away _tonight_ ,” Sarah added in a conspiratorial whisper, “my door will be unlocked.” She quickly turned away from him and busied herself with straightening the napkins and cutlery on the table, but not before he could catch a look at her blushing cheeks. If Krolock had a pulse, he knew it would have quickened substantially — such an innocent girl, he marvelled, a timid virgin and yet already so ravenous, so thirsty for the new kind of existence he promised. It really had to be destiny, he was certain, and the long wait for the right maiden had been worth it. With her at his side, a new era of his kind would begin, not hidden in night and shadows anymore, and maybe, maybe he would finally be able to, if not sate, so at least appease and feed his own appetite — for happiness.

“Now will you look at my daughter,” Rebecca exclaimed as she came back into the room carrying a heavy bowl of soup. “Glowing cheeks and glassy eyes. Feverish again, the poor thing! She’s been like that ever since her mushroom picking in the woods. You can catch all kinds of nasty things out there.”

Krolock coughed and felt a frown form on his face. How had the Chagals ever managed to bring up such a spirited young woman, with such a depth of emotion and imagination, such a courage to dream and desire? Sarah did justice to her royal name, even if her parents had probably not intended for her to aspire towards greater things. A diamond hidden away in a coal mine, in the dirt and grime of Lower Belabartokovich, only waiting to shine, that’s what his little princess was, and nothing less.

The shuffling noise of two pairs of feet dragging their way down the stairs announced Yoyneh Chagal, head of the household — if one could put that much emphasis on _head_ , Krolock thought with distaste as he watched out of the corner of his eye how the man tried to clandestinely close the flap of his trousers — and Magda, the family’s maid, her skirts conspicuously wrinkled. Whatever was going on in this family, and who was Krolock to judge, with his own rather unconventional lifestyle, it was certainly not a good environment for Sarah. Left to these garlic-touting peasants, she would grow old and fat and grey, but worse: she’d become bitter and one of the ordinary people, with all her talents and aspirations choked to death by ordinary life, a life that had no place for books and arts and dark pleasures.

“Told you, you shouldn’t have allowed Sarah to go out into the woods on her own,” Yoyneh grunted with an exasperated sigh. “I tell you, Count, having a daughter is a plight. And having such a fragile girl like Sarah as a daughter is even worse. My prize, my jewel — and utterly useless. Eyes in her books, head in the clouds. There you see what school does to women; it ruins them, that’s what it does.”

Sarah had not uttered a word so far, focusing on ladling soup into the plates instead, but Krolock could feel the frustration and anger coming off in waves from her.

“What-a do you envision for your daughter then?” He asked into the room. Sarah shot him a look, but the words were already out.

“A good match,” Rebecca said without hesitation, and Krolock felt how she scrutinised him once more with the gauging eyes of a mother.

“Ah, for all I care, she should stay with us where she belongs and help with the inn,” Yoyneh countered.

“That’s chicken soup,” Sarah finally spoke up, as if that explained everything, and Krolock nodded his polite thanks. He rarely partook of common food and drink these days, unless an odd fancy happened to strike, but he was going to keep up appearances for the sake of this dinner. And, truth to be told, his curiosity was piqued, and if his future consort served him a homely meal, who was he to deny her the pleasure of seeing him appreciate it? Sarah had reassured him repeatedly that no cabbage or garlic would disgrace the meal, not that he actually had to fear anything from those foods — that was just another silly superstition of the villagers — but, for the undead life of him, he could not stand the smell of them at all; and that was true of the offending food items and the villagers in equal measure. And who needed to rely on garlic to stay _young and well-hung_ , as the peasants used to claim in their stupid folk songs, when he was both immortal by curse and blessed with significant girth by nature?

Yoyneh filled their cups with wine and broke the bread, and this was certainly a modest dinner compared to Krolock’s standards, there was no denying the sad fact, but at least he did find the experience anything but boring, and this was already a win in his book. Actually, and he took another spoonful, he could get used to eating again, every now and then, if only to stimulate his taste buds and reminisce about long forgotten physical pleasures. The soup was strong and salty, and it warmed him all the way down into his stomach — a strange, but not unpleasant feeling, but unsettling in its comforting normalcy.

“So, seen any bloody vampiric creatures lately?” the innkeeper suddenly asked him, and Krolock almost choked on a spoonful of soup.

“Yoyneh, stop that nonsense!” Rebecca and Magda simultaneously shouted out, and that alone was a rather awkward moment. Krolock decided to counter with humour, and he put on a thoughtful expression.

“Since I accepted the inherited property and took-a residence in the castle, there were at least… — let-a me think — at least-a three tax collectors at my door.”

Rebecca raised a brow. “So many debts?”

“All accounts of _la famiglia_ have been settled, I assure you,” Krolock said, and he had to put some effort into not making his voice sound too menacing.

“The Count is a fine and honourable man,” Sarah came to his rescue again, and would that always be like this? Because he could get used to this level of care, he really could.

“No doubt,” Yoyneh raised his glass of wine at him. “You got any family here with you?”

“A spinster sister and my adoptive son. The rest of my surviving relatives are in Italy and Cockney.”

“Cockney? Where’s that?”

“It’s-a place in England, I think,” Krolock muttered and risked another spoon. “This-a is-a really delicious soup, Signora Chagal.”

Rebecca was seemingly delighted by the praise and gave a visible nod of appreciation in the direction of her daughter. Yes, he knew how to turn his charms on someone, that much was clear!

The rest of the meal — stuffed carp (not something he terribly missed from his former life), savoury stew (yes, something he could get used to again), potato _kigel_ (seriously, stuffing himself with this heavy casserole until dawn seemed more attractive by the minute), and copious amounts of sticky Manischewitz wine and this sweet, luscious bread (could somebody please bury him with these delicacies?) — followed along idle chatter and trite village talk, and Krolock was silently glad that neither Sarah nor he were the focus of the conversation anymore. No matter how simple the meal, second helpings were forced on him, and Yoyneh explained that Shabbes also meant one was granted a second soul and this one had to be well-fed too. Krolock was sure he had not possessed even a single soul for the major part of his life, but his appetite was big enough to accept the offered hospitality. That was… until Chagal fixed him with a glare.

“Now about this invitation to your ball…”

Of course, the overprotective father would take offence, Krolock sighed inwardly. Not that this was of any consequence, of course; however, the discussion would certainly sour the rest of the evening.

“And so you must be aware,” Yoyneh continued, and Krolock noticed that he had actually not really paid much attention to what the man was saying, because one of Sarah’s bare feet — when had she lost her shoe? — poked his shin under the table, “that she cannot attend unchaperoned, and I will gladly fulfil my duty as father and accompany her to your celebration. Or better yet, she can stay at home where she belongs and I will attend in her stead.”

Krolock had to fight hard not to roll his eyes at him, which was not exactly easy, especially with someone’s naughty toes trying so eagerly to sneak into the opening of his trouser leg.

“We will talk-a ‘bout this again,” he offered the innkeeper over an artfully improvised yawn, “and if you are so keen on-a-ttending, then”, he fixed his eyes on Chagal, “I am sure something-a can be arranged.”

Someone else would have to deliver the bite, though, Krolock thought. There was no way he was going anywhere near that unwashed neck!

Rebecca insisted he stay the night in one of their guest rooms, as surely the ride back to his castle was too arduous so close to midnight, and they only had two other guests at the inn currently, some eccentric German professor and his young factotum, strange people indeed with foreign customs, but one could not be picky with patrons nowadays. Krolock accepted the offer with a slight bow of his head, and he saw Sarah’s eager and telling countenance from the corner of his eye. It was gratifying how she hungered for this, too, how she hungered for him — and he would make sure that she received her just desserts, as far as he could grant them to her.

It felt strange to forego a more dramatic entrance, a stage-worthy transformation from bat to man, and sneak on stocking feet across the hall to Sarah’s door while the house was asleep. As promised, he found it unlocked and silently let himself into her room. Only the light of a single candle banished complete darkness, and no matter how much he loved the black of night, he had to admit that her pale skin glistening in the golden light was so much better a sight. She was sitting in her copper tub, again — the maiden really did love her baths — and looked up at him with a coy smile.

“I see you make good use of my gift,” Krolock nodded in the direction of the bath sponge that was currently dragged oh-so-slowly and tantalisingly over her skin. What a riveting sight, the minute circles it described up one arm and over her collarbone, then lower, lower… He looked away, licking his lips.

“I do enjoy it very much, Giovanni. Every day. And sometimes multiple times, if the need is too great.”

He shuddered at the use of his first name. She had to know what she was doing to him! He was only a man, after all, heartbeat or not.

“However,” — he looked back at her at the sound of her voice, and oh, that damned sponge was now travelling down one leg that she had propped up on the rim of the tub —, “I could use your assistance. There are parts of my body I just cannot reach properly. I need a helping hand.”

Probably it had been the small bite he had enjoyed when they had first met in the woods. Or had it happened earlier when he had visited her nightly dreams? Abducted her to his library in one of her delicious nightmares to share kisses and stories and knowledge? Probably he had sampled just a tad too much of her intoxicating blood and infected her with his cunning and madness in turn, bringing forth an appetite fit for a vampire queen, but quite unbecoming of an innocent, sheltered maiden. It mattered little, though. As long as he just kept himself under control, she would celebrate her 18th birthday overmorrow at the ball with him, as the virgin destiny demanded in order to fulfil the prophecy during the total eclipse of the moon. But who said he could not partake in another cautious taste till then, to appease both their hunger?

It did not take him a second thought, before he was already down on his knees next to her tub, the sponge now in one of his hands and caressing her skin, the swan-like neck that called out to him, the elegant curve of her shoulders, the pale expanse of her back. She had pinned up her beautiful hair into a mess of curls, keeping it away from the water, but also baring even more of herself that way, tempting him to just bury his fangs deeply in her neck. No, he would not do this, not tonight!

For a creature of the night that had no other reason to inhale and exhale but mere habit, he found it increasingly difficult to calm his breathing. Too real was this woman in front of him, too alive, too willing.

The water splashed as she moved to let one of her pretty legs dangle over the side of the tub. Dainty toes wiggled in the air and sent a spray of tiny droplets into the room. He stilled as he took in the image of her, the sponge all but forgotten and discarded in the water, while his fingers began to dance along her skin instead. Sarah leaned back with a lustful sigh and raised her other leg to let it rest on the opposite side of the tub. Krolock swallowed. The sight of her spread legs, and the implication of the forbidden place between them, no matter how modestly this _between_ was still hidden by water and soapsuds, was too much to bear. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looked at him from under half-closed, heavy lids; he recognised it as the challenge it posed. How far would he go to sate himself, sate her?

It only registered with him that one of his hands had decided to act all of its own and take the initiative, when the left sleeves of both his dress coat and his shirt made themselves felt quite unpleasantly, because they were soaked through down to his skin, while his fingers were still exploring the forbidden _between_ in the depths of the bathwater. Sarah gave soft little moans and pressed herself closer into his hand, and it took him a measure of control that was surely beyond any mortal being to not dive head-first into the tub and make a fool of himself. Granted, not needing to breathe might have come as a convenient quality, but the thought of returning to his home in the wee hours of night before dawn could so much as tickle him, soaked to the core and cold and miserable, was less than appealing, especially with a more reasonable alternative in the cards. He actively tore himself away from her, as difficult as it was, and got to his feet, and before Sarah could so much as protest the abandonment, he had already lifted her out of the tub and the cooling water — which ruined even more of his evening wear, but at least his hair was still dry and impeccable.

Carrying the sweet burden in his arms, he quickly took the few steps to her bed and laid her down onto the thick duvet. Sarah was barely startled by it all, but spread her legs once more invitingly, soft whimpers emphasising her raw need, a single almost inaudible plea — “Would he offer me his mouth?” — and how could he resist any longer? He grasped the silken legs to hold them apart and began to bestow tender kisses on her inner thighs, marvelling at the softness of the skin there, wondering how it was even possible for these parts of her to be so delightful when all of her was already a miraculous manifestation of perfect beauty and brimming life. His lips moved closer to her centre, and those moans turned louder and more urgent, while her hands suddenly found purchase on his head, mussing up his hair, and urging him on to where she needed him most.

No sweeter variations of his names had he ever heard than in these vocalisations and whimpers, so that for once the aliases felt real and meaningful to him, the mere hint of his true reflection in the mirror of his names not fully unattainable but a possibility for the length of a sigh, and he could no longer tease her now, but went straight to the forbidden paradise and one hand brushed aside the wet curls of her to expose her innermost secret, this too beautiful cunt, untouched and untainted — and untainted it would stay, as he would only taste, not devour, only taste, not bury his fingers or his fangs or even his own aching cock in her flesh, no — he would stay strong and in control, only licking droplets of her rose-scented bathwater and her very own juices from the folds of her, each stroke of tongue and nibble of lips a promise for a very nigh future. Oh, the things he would do to her, once destiny was fulfilled! How he would take her apart until she would scream with insatiable lust and greed, again and again, in a never-ending dream for two, curse and immortality shared but without the bitter taste of sadness anymore.

Two days! In two days she would dance in red velvet boots with him and give herself over to him, willingly, and her lifeblood would fill him with new vigour and bring upon a new era in history. Tonight, tonight however, he was going to enjoy her mortality for the very last time and give her the gift of a little death, and even if his own pressing needs were a pounding, throbbing pain in his body, they would have to wait. If anything, there was a certain thrill to be found in denying himself the much desired release; he would sink his fangs into her neck and his hard cock into her tight cunt soon enough, and it would be all the sweeter after the torturous wait.

He adjusted himself through his trousers — and this perfunctory touch already was almost too much to bear — and dedicated himself once more to the task of teasing and kissing and thoroughly worshipping her flesh. He knew he was quite excellent with his mouth; centuries of satisfied lovers of all genders were not something to sneer at. Knowing, however, that this one would not simply be transformed by him into one of his kind, but stay by his side, transfigured and elevated to his queen, someone he would not tire of, was an exciting novelty, and he had all the more reason to prove his worth. Carefully, he parted the lips of her cunt with one hand and let his tongue delve boldly into the valley, lapping at the lustfully swollen folds and coaxing sweet nectar out of her, to the sound of her agitated breathing and the sensation of her fingers tightening more strongly in his hair, a grasp bordering on painful, but what exquisite pain it was, making him feel almost alive once more. He drank deeply from her, and her juices reminded him of the specific taste of her, this individual aroma that spelled Sarah, and be it the salt of her skin or the sinful flavour of her blood that he had only tasted very cautiously so far and with great restraint, this individual aroma was the base note of her being, and he knew he would never get enough of it. Only two more days, and he would thrust his thick length into her, roughly and gently and repeatedly, and make her bleed there too and elicit more of her lifeblood from her body and no drop would go to waste. The sweet nectar of her desire was only an antepast of the feast to come.

“Giovanni!” She cried out to him again, and he followed his cue, finding the engorged little bud at the apex of her cunt and setting out to mercilessly lick and suck on the thing like a man starved for centuries; he grabbed her bottom with both hands to lift her hips and force her even closer into his face, but mostly to restrain himself from the terrible temptation of slipping a finger or two into her virginal cunt and fucking her with abandon; this would have to wait. He could not risk ruining her, not yet, not so soon, and so he took it out on her bud till she started to tremble all over and her hips bucked violently against his mouth and face, wetness and warmth baptising him and her screams calling to him like the siren-song they were, calling him to follow her into the abyss, into the little death, but no — he would not, he could not; he was dead for good already, but soon, soon she would bestow new eternal life upon him, turn his curse into a blessing.

Shape-shifting into bat form was not going to be a pleasant feeling with his cock a hard and heavy testament to his own unattended needs, but he had to hurry back to the castle now before the break of dawn. Sarah’s eyes followed him as he was rummaging through her room and finally found another blanket to cover her, where she was lying boneless and sated on the bed, a smile on her lips. “And does he love me?” She whispered into the quiet of the chamber.

Krolock licked his lips, chasing the last traces of her taste amidst the sudden melancholia that befell him, and blew out the candle to engulf her room in darkness.

_Until then._


End file.
